1901 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
261 
An Iiicidetit of Prairie Life. 
It was a dry, stifling day on the 
prairie. The south wind, blowing with 
hot, irritating persistency across the 
plains, raised clouds of dust that almost 
hid the view from the woman at the 
window of the sod house. Sarah Pres¬ 
ton’s lips were tightly compressed and 
there was a sad look in her eyes. That 
south wind was blotting out from her 
view more than the flower-dotted land¬ 
scape. It seemed to dim all remem¬ 
brance of the long days of perfect wea¬ 
ther, when the prairie seemed an Eden 
and strength and hope grew large with 
the fresh, bracing air. Some one came 
in with a heavy, weary step and stopped 
a moment on the threshold to look at 
the drooping flgure. Then he approach¬ 
ed her with awkward tenderness, laying 
his toil-roughened hand on her shoulder. 
“What’s the matter, Sarah?” he said, 
softly. 
There was a smothered weariness in 
the tones, but her ears seemed deaf that 
morning to anything but the wind’s 
piercing voice. Half unconsciously she 
drew a little away from his hand. 
“It’s everything,” she said, “every¬ 
thing! Why did we ever come here, to 
such wretchedness as this?” 
He did not attempt another caress, ex¬ 
cept with his anxious eyes, and her face 
was turned away from them, hidden in 
her hands. She would have called after 
him and clung to him if she could have 
seen the look on his face as he went out 
—all the patience and weariness of it. 
In just a few minutes he was back at 
her side. 
“Sarah,” he said, rather anxiously, 
“what would you say to letting two peo¬ 
ple come in for a little rest? They’ve 
stopped the wagon just a little way from 
here. She seems a childish young thing, 
and he looks as if the world had been 
too much for him—he’s so thin and sick¬ 
ly looking. What do you say to bring¬ 
ing them in?” 
“0, John, how can we, when it’s so 
hard to keep up as it is? But go ask 
them in. If we can make It a little easier 
for them, we ought to, I suppose.” 
“You come with me,” coaxed John. 
“Go get on your hat, and we’ll ask them 
together.” 
She gave a slight, protesting laugh, 
but went, nevertheless, clinging to his 
arm, and almost resting her face some¬ 
times on his shoulder. 
They were very near the travelers 
now. The tired horses, with dejected, 
down-bent heads, were snatching what 
little rest they could. In the covered 
wagon sat the man and woman—such a 
hollow-cheeked, large-eyed man, and 
such a little slip of a wife! The hot 
wind flapped the canvas cover and sent 
swirls of dust over the two occupants 
and their scanty possessions. Some of 
the self-pity that had darkened Sarah’s 
face all the morning faded out of it, and 
was replaced by a purer, nobler look. 
“You must be tired out,” Sarah be¬ 
gan, without preamble. “We want you 
to come up to the house for a little rest 
and to have dinner with us. Won’t 
you?” 
A pleased smile breaking over the 
young wife’s face seemed almost to fade 
out the little worried line between the 
dark eyes. An answering gleam stole 
over the worn face at her side, but they 
both protested faintly. They couldn’t 
give so much trouble; it would not be 
right. 
“"Vou come right along!” said John, 
with kindly authority. “We want you, 
so don’t make any fuss about it. We’ll 
take the horses into my barn, let ’em try 
my feed and a good bucket of my well 
wacer. 
The two men went off together, Sarah 
and the little wife beating their way 
back to the sod house. A look of cheer 
and comfort seemed to be in its brown 
walls now. “How good it will seem to 
rest in a house!” said the little wife, 
with a happy sigh. 
“Wouldn’t you like to lie down a lit¬ 
tle while till dinner is ready?” said 
Sarah. “Come right into my room and 
just feel that you are at home.” A pro¬ 
tecting kindliness had sprung up in her 
heart for this little creature with the ap¬ 
pealing eyes. “You must be so hot and 
uncomfortable! There’s cold water in 
that pitcher, and I’ll bring you some 
warm. No, it isn’t a bit of trouble. Then 
you must rest until dinner.” 
Unpleasant thoughts were far away 
as Sarah prepared the simple dinner, 
trying to make it as attractive as pos¬ 
sible. She would get out some of her 
wedding china—why not? John would 
enjoy a bright spot in the day for the 
strangers. She even picked a bunch of 
Astragalus, making a centerpiece of the 
white furry leaves. A sprig of wild 
geranium was laid at each plate. There 
were cheery faces around the table, and 
Sarah’s was not less bright than the 
others. The gaunt stranger sat a little 
more erect now, and his face, even after 
this brief rest, seemed less sharply out¬ 
lined. The warm, human kindness as 
well as the outward comfort had 
wrought the change, and in some way 
made easier to remember in whose larg¬ 
er protecting care they were and would 
still be when rolling over the brown 
prairie. Bit by bit their story came out. 
The man told how he had been a car¬ 
penter and builder in Iowa; what a 
happy little home it had been, and why 
they were flying now to the untried 
world of Colorado, that Mecca for con¬ 
sumptives. The gaunt man and the 
young wife avoided the dread word; 
they said, instead, “people with any sort 
of lung trouble.” 
As they went back to the sitting room 
John and Sarah talked cheerily of the 
prospective home in Colorado, and 
brought out a book of views of the won¬ 
derful scenery. The gaunt man and his 
little wife bent over them with keen in¬ 
terest. “It’ll be a great move for us,” he 
said. “It seemed to be the only thing 
for us to do, and I’m glad we’re so near 
there. I feel more heartened up to-day 
than any time since we started. We 
won’t forget your kindness, I can tell 
you.” 
“Oh, pshaw!” said John, and “Don’t 
speak of it;” said Sarah, in a breath. 
“It’s been so pleasant for us to have 
you!” 
It was necessary to take up the jour¬ 
ney again. The two men went out to 
the barn together. The eyes of the little 
wife sought Sarah’s. “You have been so 
good,” she said, almost in a whisper, “so 
good to take us in. This awful dust and 
the heat. I wouldn’t have minded them 
so much for myself, but it has been so 
bad for him. It makes the cough worse 
and that always frightens me. All these 
days that we have been on the way I 
have been longing so to reach Colorado. 
I have felt as if I couldn’t wait, when 
the waiting might mean everything to 
him, and it has been so hard, almost im¬ 
possible, to keep cheerful before him! 
That is always very hard, don’t you 
think so? When your life is all wrapped 
up in somebody else’s to keep that one 
from feeling how you suffer? And, of 
course. If they know that would make 
it all so much worse.” 
How the poor young thing was empty¬ 
ing her heart out! It was as if all the 
grief and anxiety of the days in the cov¬ 
ered wagon, rolling over the brown 
plains, had burst its bounds and must 
pour itself out to this listener. 
“I wanted you to know,” the excited 
little voice ran on, “how kind you have 
been—^what a comfort it has been to 
me! Don’t you see how much less tired 
he looks? And he hasn’t coughed near 
so much; not near! You have cheered 
us up, too; it has been so strange—all 
this journey; every day taking us far¬ 
ther away from home, and the trying to 
choke down the homesickness—and—” 
She broke off short, with gratitude and 
tears shining in her eyes. 
There was just time for Sarah to take 
“GOES TO THE SPOT” 
There is food that feeds the 
lungs and wind-pipes; it feeds 
the whole body; but the lung part 
more than the rest of the body. 
Scott’s emulsion of cod-liver 
oil. 
You think it not food but a 
medicine. Both. There is 
more lung food, in an ounce of 
it, than in a pound of porter¬ 
house steak; and “it goes to 
the spot.” What else does 
“medicine” mean ? 
It “goes to the spot.” 
Wc llsend you a little to try, i f you like. 
SCOll & BOW N h, 409 Pearl street. New York. 
the little brown hand in hers and press 
it close, when the two men came back. 
The man with stooping shoulders and 
the flush on either cheek went up close 
to the little woman with bright, eager 
eyes. 
“Well, little woman, are you ’most 
ready?” he said, patting her shoulder. 
“You’ve had a fine rest, haven’t you?” 
He coughed sharply as he spoke, but 
she smiled up at him brightly, that he 
might not know how much more it 
racked her chest than his. 
“You’d better get on your bonnet, lit¬ 
tle woman,” he said; “it’s time we were 
going. I don’t know how we’re to thank 
you and your wife, Mr. Preston, for all 
you’ve done for us, but we feel it, sir; 
we feel it.” 
“It wasn’t anything at all!” John pro¬ 
tested. “It has done us good to have 
you here.” 
Sarah and the little wife went into 
the tiny bedroom together. The wind 
had stopped its maddening song outside, 
and the air was clear again from its 
burden of dust. The furniture would 
have to be dusted for the third time that 
day, but the thought brought no scowl 
to her forehead now. The little traveler 
pinned on the rusty black hat, and 
turned to hold out both hands impul¬ 
sively to Sarah. “Thank you again,” 
she said, and then, in a whisper: “Colo¬ 
rado is a wonderful place, isn’t it? 
Haven’t you heard about the way peo¬ 
ple get cured there—people just as bad 
off as George, or worse? You feel sure 
it’ll do him good, don’t you?” 
She searched Sarah’s face as if to read 
her fate there. It was hard to meet the 
girlish eyes. 
“I’ve never been farther west than this 
myself,” she said, “but everyone says 
it’s a wonderful climate in Colorado for 
people with trouble with their lungs. 
I’m so glad you’re going there, and when 
he’s grown well and strong, you’ll be 
coming back this way to see us.'' 
The delight of that possible future 
was in the young wife’ eyes. “If he only 
does!” she said. “Oh, if he only does!” 
There were hearty handclasps ex¬ 
changed a few minutes later. Then the 
“prairie schooner,” with its freight of 
human love and anxieties, rolled slowly 
away. The two left behind in the little 
sod house stood at the window till the 
wagon was seen, a dark blot, above the 
sharp horizon. With a quick, impulsive 
movement, Sarah’s hand stole into her 
husband’s. 
“How good you are!” she said, almost 
solemnly. “And while I have you what 
do I care for other things?’ 
Far off in the big wagon a little wo¬ 
man sat with her round cheek pressed 
against a shabby coatsleeve, and the cry 
of her heart was like that of Sarah’s. 
“What are other things,” she was whis¬ 
pering, “while I have you, dear?”—Col¬ 
orado Springs Facts. 
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One In each town to ride and exhibit 
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